“Well, he’s used to a crazy daughter who talks to imaginary friends, so right now he thinks I’m off somewhere talking to a wall.”
“It’s not so bad. Your parents care about you, that’s all. You’re lucky.” The ghost of a wistful look crossed his face, but it disappeared so quickly I couldn’t be sure if I’d seen it.
“Your dad really thinks you’re off talking to a wall?” he asked, and I nodded, rolling my eyes.
“Or a parking meter.”
“Maybe a squirrel?” Logan cracked a hesitant smile.
“Don’t laugh, that happened once,” I said, thinking of my date with Chris by the carousel in Central Park.
“Well, we can’t tell your father that you fought off a demon, but—” he paused, giving me a hesitant glance “—maybe if he met me he’d know you weren’t talking to squirrels.”
“It was just the one squirrel.”
Logan paused. “Who was it, really?”
“Just a really nice woman. She had flowers in her hair,” I murmured, remembering how happy she was to be back in our Central Park. She told me all about her afternoons taking strolls in the park with her boyfriend. I originally thought she was simply ditzy—especially since she introduced herself as Feather and twirled around as she spoke, her long pastel skirt rippling around her in a bell, like petals on a tulip. I was suddenly hit with overwhelming sadness for her, being stuck in a warped version of Central Park. I changed the subject as quickly as possible, talking with Logan about movies, music and the most non-demonic topics I could think of until we got to my apartment.
My father must have been watching for me through the peephole, since he yanked the door open while my keys were still in it. His face was the color of his bright red hair—something I would have teased him about if I hadn’t been the cause of his crimson complexion.
“Where the hell have you been, young lady? We’ve been worried sick!” The vein in his forehead throbbed so violently I thought it might reach out and flick me in the ear. “You know you’re supposed to check in. Did you know there was an accident at school?”
“Dad, I’m fine,” I said, holding my palms out in surrender as my mom joined my dad at the door. “I was hanging out with a friend.” I jerked my thumb next to me, where Logan was a few feet down the hall, tying his shoelace out of my dad’s line of vision.
“What friend?” my dad asked, the color draining from his face as his anger developed into concern.
“Sorry,” Logan mouthed, quickly getting up and coming to stand by my side.
“Hi, Mr. Kelly,” Logan said, his smile fading when he saw the suspicious look on my dad’s face. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“And you are?” Dad asked, giving Logan a possibly lethal glare.
“Logan. Um, I go to school with Paige?” he replied as if it were a question, causing me to stare at him incredulously. Logan held out his hand tentatively, a nervous smile plastered on his face. I couldn’t believe it. Demons were no problem for Logan Bradley, but two seconds with my father and he needed a hug and some hot chocolate.
I gave my mom my best pleading look, and she gently whacked my father on his arm with the back of her knuckles before she shook Logan’s hand warmly.
“Logan, it’s lovely to meet you. Won’t you come in for a moment?”
“Thanks, but I have to get going. We were talking and let time get away from us,” Logan said, looking visibly relieved to be addressing my mother. “I just wanted to make sure Paige got home okay. But, um, Mr. Kelly? What did you say happened at school?”
My father, who had relaxed slightly when Logan said he had to leave, sighed heavily. “There was some kind of accident at school—huge explosion in one of the classrooms.”
“Did they say what caused it?” Logan pressed, and my dad frowned.
“No, all we got was an email from the school that there was a fire and it was contained. The news is starting to cover it.”
“I wonder what happened. Maybe school will be canceled next week,” I suggested cheerfully. That sounds like something someone who had absolutely nothing to do with the fire would say, right?
“That would be pretty awesome,” Logan agreed, picking up my angle and giving me a sideways smile.
“Well, miss, you’re already late for dinner.” My father held the door out farther and ushered me inside, barely giving me a chance to take my backpack from Logan. As I grabbed the straps, Logan pulled the bag a little closer.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” he whispered. I nodded, but his reaction was blocked by my father letting the door slam shut.
“Dad, why are you being so rude?”
“Me, rude? Young lady, you were extremely late. You didn’t check in, didn’t let us know you wouldn’t be home for dinner—” he ticked my crimes off on his fingers “—and then you show up at the door with that kid.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “That kid, as you call him, has a name. And Logan is just a friend.” Who saved my life.
“Peach, listen,” my dad began, and I stiffened. When I was a little kid, I mispronounced my name as “Peach”—and once upon a time, it was a term of endearment. Now, my dad only used it when he was about to say something I wasn’t going to like.
“I think you need to be careful,” Dad said, folding his arms as well as he leaned against our navy couch. “We don’t exactly know what that boy’s intentions are.”
“It’s not like that. We’re just friends, Dad.”
“Paige, you’re fragile and—”
“Fragile?” I interrupted him, annoyed. Fragile? The word always triggered a negative reaction from me. But after today, it ignited a rapidly shortening fuse. “Dad, seriously. Come on.”
“Richard....” my mom began, his name sounding like a warning. But my dad ignored her.
“I don’t want someone taking advantage of you or pressuring you into something,” my father said. “You know that you’re troubled.”
And at that, my fuse ran out, and my frustration exploded.
“Oh, right, Dad, he walked me home so I’m going to go throw myself at him, have unprotected sex and drop out of school to have a bajillion of his babies because I’m fragile and crazy and need to be locked up!”
“Paige, watch your mouth!” my dad scolded, standing up. Fire trucks would have been jealous of the shade of red he turned.
“Dad, give me a little credit!” I mimicked his tone.
“Richard, I think you and I need to have a little conversation,” my mom said through pressed-together teeth, and motioned for my father to follow her to their room.
I stomped away to my room, angry at my father for treating me like a naive, crazy little girl when, as far as he knew, the biggest crime I’d committed was making a new friend.
“If only he knew the truth,” I muttered to myself as I peeled off Logan’s sweater and my uniform, surveying the damage done to my side. A six-inch-wide swatch of skin was already puckered and shiny, as if the burn was already months old. I grabbed the healing balm, wrapped myself in my robe and was almost in the bathroom when I heard my mom’s persuasive tone coming through my parents’ door. I paused outside to eavesdrop. I couldn’t help it—my mom could sell fish to the ocean, so I had to know what she was telling my dad.
“—hasn’t had an episode in months. Maybe we’ve finally found the right combination of pills.” Go, Mom! Even though I was careful to flush the pills every single morning, instead of taking them.
“It doesn’t matter, Anna. I don’t want some hoodlum taking advantage of her.” I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself from laughing at the thought of Logan as a hoodlum—the feared leader of the infamous pen-stealing gang.